Vows
by Aki and Tenshi
Summary: "I didn't marry you so my family could have another solider." Scott and Allison meet in college, fall in love, get married. Then Scott finds out Allison hunts werewolves. As per Argent tradition, he has to be a part of that. He's not great with a gun but he'll do what he has to, for Allison. When it comes to saving Scott's life, Allison will do what she has to do too.


"So you're the young man who stole my granddaughter's heart."

"Actually, sir…" Scott weaves his fingers with the hand where Allison wears a modest engagement ring. "She stole mine."

After dinner, when the fresh fiancés are caught up in each other's eyes, Gerard slips into the kitchen where Victoria and Chris are cleaning up.

"Well?" Chris asks.

"He's quite infatuated with her," Gerard says.

Victoria steps to the doorway, judges the distracted couple's distance, then says, "Scott's loyal to her."

"Trainable?" Gerard says.

"He won't be the best hunter," Chris says leaning against the counter. "But he's studying medicine. It's a skill set that could become applicable."

"Well," Gerard says with a charm that leaves no one at ease, "Whatever makes our Allison happy."

…

"I can't believe your parents are letting me stay in your room," Scott says as he slips between the sheets.

"We're engaged. I think they know we have sex," Allison says.

Scott shushes her and they dissolve into snorts and giggles. He kisses her temple, hand tangled with her curl, as they settle down.

After their breathing calms to almost sleep, and Scott asks, "What should I call your grandfather?"

Allison hums, "Hmm?" without lifting her eyelids.

"I already call your dad Mr. Argent."

"Just call him Gerard, like I do."

"Isn't that kind of weird?"

"Tonight is only the second time I've seen him in my life," Allison says.

"Really?"

Allison pushes up onto her elbow. "He stayed with us a few weeks after my aunt died. I was seventeen then. It was the first time I met him that I remember."

Scott runs a hand up Allison's arm. 'More like an older sister' Allison has said when speaking of her aunt Kate in the past.

"My family's not like other families," Allison says now.

"I like your family," Scott says.

Allison kisses him, palm lingering on his cheek when she pulls away.

…

Scott and Allison exchange vows at a small but well-funded ceremony two months after they graduate from the college where they met. They settled down in an apartment in a town near where Chris and Victoria live. Scott attends medical school while Allison goes to work with her father.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Scott asks her when she comes home from a week long business trip paler than normal.

Allison focuses her energy into a quick slice-chop of onion on the cutting board.

"I mean – arms dealing – is that really your dream? It just doesn't seem to make you happy."

Allison dumps the onion slices into a frying pan. They sizzle. "It's good money."

Still a student, Scott is the biggest drain on their expenses.

"I – I can ask for more hours at –"

"No. I would actually like to see you every once in a while," Allison says as she takes a peeler to a carrot at a rough speed until blood drips onto the cutting board.

She gasps, all surprise, the pain not yet felt. Scott's there, front to her back, directing her hand in his under the facet's cold stream.

"Just a nick," he says, but her thumb won't stop bleeding.

Scott sits her in a kitchen chair, and kneels before her as he wraps her wound.

"Alli?" He drags his knuckles across her check, disrupting a tear. "Are you – do you regret—"

"No," she says. "Scott..." She bits her bites her lip, shakes her head, but makes herself do it. "I need to tell you the truth about my family. And what exactly my business trip was."

It's a testament to Scott's faith in her, for without a shred of proof he accepts when she tells him that her family hunts werewolves.

"That includes you?" Scott asks, still holding her hand.

"I was on a hunt this week," Allison says.

"And… and me?"

"They want you to – my parents and Gerard. My mom married into it."

Scott nods, but it's like he's forgotten how to move.

"They've been pressuring me to tell you since the wedding, so they could get started on your training," Allison says. They could've used another set of hands and eyes on this week's hunt.

"Training?" Scott asks.

"You don't even know how to shoot a gun."

"You do?"

Allison laughs. "I'm a licensed arms dealer. It comes with the territory."

"You also hunt werewolves," Scott retorts. "Apparently."

"I prefer a crossbow for that actually," Allison says as she leans forward to catch Scott's lips with her own. That night no more questions are asked or answered as they make love under the relief of a heavy truth revealed.

…

Scott flinches every time he pulls the trigger, but he empties the magazine anyway. Chris hits the button and the blue paper target drifts toward them. The best shot is a bullet hole through the shoulder outline.

"Not horrible for your first time," Chris says. Scott's hands still shake with aftershock as he sets down the handgun.

"Just a tip," Chris says, "It's easier to hit the target if you keep your eyes open."

…

Allison comes home with her hair tied up to find Scott starting at a dissembled gun on the dinner table.

"I took it apart," Scott says without her asking. "But I can't figure out how to put it back together."

Allison pulls a chair next to his. "Okay," she says. She picks up a small metal piece. "The trick is that the locking pin has to go back into the receiver first." She presses the pin into his palm. "Then it's just the opposite order of how you took apart."

Allison coaches him through the reassembly. Once done, Scott looks at Allison like he first realizes she's home. He touches the edge of a butterfly bandage on her forehead.

"I thought it was just a family visit."

"It was supposed to be," she says calmly, not wanting an argument after a weekend apart. "But things came up."

"I hate it." Scott grinds his knuckles into his eye sockets. "Knowing you're off doing these dangerous things. It's like being married to a soldier. And I can't do anything to help."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Scott says, sharing the first smile of the night. She had nearly broken his wrist when he surprised her trying to return her dropped wallet after dark on campus. It's how they met. "But I'm still scared," he says. "I mean, your aunt…" Kate had been a huntress prodigy, or so went her legends.

"She was hunting alone. I don't do that." Allison places a hand on his jaw. "I always come back."

Scott kisses her palm. His fears aren't logic based. Allison is no damsel needing his protection even if he had been capable to provide it. As lovely as she smiles, as loving as she is, Scott has witnessed her deadly accuracy with a bow and arrow, her military perfection assembling and recognizing firearms, and her ease with ring daggers. All skills she has tried to teach Scott. A lost cause, really. His failed attempts at playing lacrosse in high school taught him that he lacked coordination, agility, and aim.

And yet, only five months after learning of the existence of werewolves, Scott's taken out on his first night with Chris, to learn about tracking. "There are no active packs in this area, but you should always act as if there are," Chris says, but ten minutes later a bag is yanked over Scott's head and he's being rough-handled. He's not sure what's happening – total disorientation due to fear and blindness – until he's pushed into a chair and ropes are tugged tight around his limbs.

The bag's removed. Scott blinks into the dark. He's inside now, something Spartan, like a shed. Yeah, there are some tools hanging from rusted nails. Shed.

Chris steps into the moonlight from the glassless window. "You have to be prepared for anything… Now get out."

Chris leaves the shed, door hinges whining. Scott grunts with frustration through a clothe gag, pulling at his unyielding restraints. The ropes are too tight to be slipped out of, no give at all, and expertly knotted.

The hinges whine again. Scott sighs at the sight of Allison.

"I'm not here to untie you, Scott," she says with wide-eyes. "I went through this too. It'll teach you a lot." She ducks her head. "I'm just here to keep watch."

Allison sits in the corner by the door where she can also see out the window, bow leaned against her shoulder. Scott can stomach this treatment from Chris, but Allison? Was she one of the hands that bagged him, dragged him, and tied him up? There were more than two.

"In the future," Allison says, "You'll know to carry extra weapons – knives, blades – up your sleeve, in your boots. But sometimes those will get stripped from you anyway…"

Scott strains again at the ropes.

"This isn't a test of strength." Allison's eyes flicker to him then back out the window.

If it's not about strength, it's about brains. _Tools on the wall_. Scott looks around as much as he can. Old garden shears hang behind him. Scott presses his toes the floor and moves his chair a screeching half-inch backward. Allison gives Scott a fleeting grin, before her attention snaps back to watch duties. Seconds later Scott understands – smarts catching up to him all at once – Allison doesn't want to see him like this.

Scott gets to the wall at an inch-worm's pace. Arms bounds behind his back, Scott has just enough freedom of his elbows to move his wrist bindings against the blade a half inch up and down. His muscles burn with the work of it, but the success of the first layer of rope splitting apart have him chocking on his gag with laughter.

One rope cut and Scott wriggles and tugs his way out of his arm binding. Getting each ankle untied from the chair legs is easy with both hands free. Dawn's light is crowning by the time he's free.

Allison unsteadies him with her embrace. She kisses behind his ear, his cheek, his lips. "You did so good, so good."

Scott has gone sleepless, his flesh is bruised around his wrists, and all his joints ache, and yet, when Allison collapses against him like she's exhausted, he holds her up.

…

"I didn't expect them to look so much like people," Scott says after his first hunt that ended in a kill. Allison makes him a mug of Earl Grey with a shot of rum to make it easier for him to sleep.

"You saw his eyes," Allison says. Scott has studied the Argent bestiary for the last three weeks. "What we did tonight was justice."

"Then why doesn't it feel like it?"

"Drink up," Allison orders. As he does, Allison curls beside him on the couch, pets his hair. "I know it's hard. It's hard the first time."

Scott downs the rest of the mug, wincing as he swallows.

"Think about it," Allison says. "Regular law enforcement can't handle a werewolf, even if they could connect him to the murder. We're filling a gap. Who knows how many lives we protect when we – when we put down a violent one."

Scott moves the mug to the coffee table with a clatter. He puts his face in his hands. "I could never do it. Kill a person. Werewolf or not – it's a person."

Allison hooks her chin over Scott's shoulder, moving closer to him even as he turns inward.

"I'm sorry. I can't," he says.

"Then I don't want you to," Allison says. "If it will break you, then I don't want you to. I won't think any less of you. Damn what my parents think or anyone else. I didn't marry you so my family could have another solider."

Scott lifts his head; his eyes are red. "So what does that mean for me?"

"You still come with us. Still train. Still hunt. But when it comes down to it, I don't expect you to pull the trigger."

…

There's a rustle in the woods, and all around Scott weapons are drawn. He fumbles tugging his gun out of its holster, then can't get the safety turned off. A deer canters into the clearing, stares at the group of humans, then flees quickly. Everyone's tucking their weapons away and Scott's just getting his raised.

"I thought getting an extra man was supposed to be a good thing," Scott hears one hunter – Jordan, maybe – say, not exactly in a whisper.

"He's the son-in-law," someone replies in a rolled-eyes tone.

"That Argent girl sure picked a dud."

Scott switches the safety back on and jams the gun back into the holster. Allison and his secret compromise eases Scott's conscious just enough for him to avoid a breakdown while being complicit. Most of his fellow hunters – some extended Argent family and others just associates – think Scott's incompetent. Scott sure that Victoria sees the deeper (and maybe worse to her) truth: Scott's soft-hearted.

"Tracks lead this way," Chris calls over to the group, and then leads them on a long hike.

…

When Scott gets home, Allison's sagging on the couch. She sits up sudden when he closes the door. "How'd it go?"

"We didn't get the wolf," Scott says. "But we found his hideout. They thought he was an omega, but your dad said it looks like he's joined up with a few others. He needs you tomorrow night for a follow up hunt."

Allison pulls him onto the couch next to her, nuzzling into his neck. "You're home," she says, all appreciation and relief, for the first time understanding everything Scott had felt since he learnt the truth.

…

Still considered too green to take out on the really dangerous hunts, Scott awaits Allison's return at the Argent house. It's the 'homebase', and here Scott will see Allison again alive and okay than at their apartment.

Victoria pours tea into fine china cups and sets one in front of Scott. She sits at the opposite end of the kitchen island. The tea's too hot to drink, so Scott waits as the last five minutes pass until midnight to try sipping it again. It's unsweetened.

"Do you always wait up?" Scott asks.

Victoria sets the cup in its saucer in the quietest way. "Not always."

"I can never sleep." Scott rubs at his eyebrow. "Knowing Allison's out there."

"You have to have faith in her," Victoria says.

"I do!" Scott says, too quickly. "I mean, I – I do. But you never what's out there. What will happen."

Victoria turns her cup so the handle is parallel to the edge of the counter. She looks up. "You get used to it."

Scott smiles faintly. Victoria doesn't.

Scott clears his throat. "So, do you ever go on the hunts?"

"I have more of a strategic mind," Victoria says.

"Oh," Scott says. He gets it, like not sending a general to the front lines.

She drums her fingers and says almost like a threat, "I can defend myself."

"I'm – I'm sure you can." He gulps the tea just to do something. "So..."

Victoria says, "Do you always talk this much?"

"We're family," Scott says. "I thought we could get to know each other better." Sometimes, when Scott recalls a detail from the bestiary or properly identifies a track, Chris will pat Scott's shoulder in a way that's all fatherly in the way Scott lacked growing up. He doesn't need mothering out of Victoria though, because Scott has an awesome mom.

"My mom absolutely loves Allison."

"I love very few people," Victoria says, swift and terse and if the way her mouth sour-purses afterward, not all that intended to slip out. "I love Allison," she says. "And Chris."

"How did you two meet? You and Mr. Argent."

"A werewolf killed my best friend. Chris killed it. I helped."

Scott wishes he had more tea to gulp.

Victoria looks at him like a cat. "Does that disturb you, Scott?"

Any gains Scott thought he made tonight dissipate into fantasy. "You don't like me," he says.

"It's doesn't matter if I like you or not. I don't respect you."

Scott grips the edge of his stool.

"Don't look so shocked," she says. "I wouldn't respect anyone my daughter married in such short a time. You have to earn that."

"By being a good hunter," Scott says.

Victoria blinks into a nod. "And a good husband."

"I love her."

"I don't doubt that. But it's easy to love when you've been married for less than a year. What about after five years? Ten? Twenty? What about after you witness Allison do the thing you're too squeamish to do?"

Scott jaw drops, but the front door bangs open with a shout and he's relieved of having to give an answer.

A bleeding, writhing body is deposited on the island where Victoria and Scott had just been sharing tea and conversation.

"What happened?" Victoria asks, face stiff, as Scott steps back until Allison catches his arm.

"Friendly fire, other hunters on the same trail," Chris says, holding the wound on Jordon (a distance Argent cousin, a few years older than Scott) side. "Slug's still in him."

"He's needs to go to the hospital," Scott says.

"We can't," Allison says. "Hospitals report all gunshot wounds to the police."

"You need to get it out, Scott," Chris says.

"Me?"

"You're a doctor," one of the other hunters says.

"I'm only in my first year of medical school!"

"That's more than the rest of us," Allison says. Scott knows she knows how do stitches, so does he, but this is another universe.

"You want to let one of us botch it?" Chris says.

Scott's frozen.

"Look, if it helps, if the bullet had hit anything vital, he's be dead already."

Jordan groans "Not helping" through gritted teeth.

If people aren't staring at Jordon, they're staring at Scott.

"Scott..." Allison draws him closer, speaks right into his ear. "You can do it. I believe in you."

Scott swallows down his insecurities. "Okay," he says. "Do we have a scalpel?"

...

Victoria, it turns out, does have a scalpel, suture supplies, gauze, alcohol in the best stocked 'first aid' kit she kept under the kitchen sink. Scott's voice had been steady as he pressed the blade into Jordon's flesh, and his voice commanding as he gave orders to the others, but now all his hands could do was shake.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Allison says, and she moves into the bathroom and presses his hands under warm water.

She pumps soap into his hands and asks, "Why're you so glum. You saved his life."

"Did you hear him scream?" Scott says. "When I cut into him, completely conscious."

"You saved his life," Allison repeats. She taps his elbow. "Start scrubbing."

Scott follows orders and the bubbles foam pink. "They had to hold him down."

"You told them to hold him down," Allison says. "You took charge in there. It was amazing. You were a hero."

"I'm not a –"

"You saved his life," Allison says again. "No matter how much pain he was in, he's going to be thankful to you. We all are."

Scott scrubs his hands clean until they become sensitive. Allison turns off the tap and tosses a towel to him.

"You think I'm being ridiculous," Scott says.

"Yes," she answers. "You are being ridiculously kind and caring and I'm not about to shame you for that, but I'm going to have to insist on the hero part."

Scott grin-grimaces. Taking care of people, saving lives... it was what his mom did and why Scott got into the medical profession in the first place.

"You can call me a hero if you want to," Scott says. They go to their room in the Argent house, and the ring of Jordan's scream rings in Scott's ears as he falls to sleep.

…

On their first anniversary, Scott and Allison miss their reservation at a too expensive restaurant because they lose track of time showering. It's a shame, because Allison had this amazing red dress.

Scott and Allison get dressed up anyway and walk to the nearest convenience store to buy cheap wine. They get tipsy and slow dance to no music in the living room and end up falling asleep with most their clothes on and so desperately still in love.

...

Allison's scream is an icicle stabbed through Scott and much worse than getting the wind knocked out of him or the claws that just tore at his side. She drops to her knees beside him and he lifts a hand from where he holds his wound. There's not that much blood.

"It's okay," he tells her.

She lifts his shirt. People run by them. A howl echoes, followed by pops of gunfire. "Scott..." Her voice cracks.

"It's not bad," he says, but he reaches to pull up his shirt so he can see. Maybe he's too in shock to tell he's dying. Allison's eyes are watery.

It's not claws that ripped his skin and muscle, Scott sees in the moonlight, but teeth.

...

Chris sets a carving knife dead center the kitchen island. "You need to make it look like a suicide."

"Dad," Allison says.

The knife is six inches from Scott's hand and she is across the room.

"You should write a note," Chris says.

"It's only been two days," Allison says. "We don't know –"

"We do know," Victoria says from next to her daughter. "The bite is already healing."

As of this morning. As of this evening, Scott knows, the bite is gone.

"It's another week until the full moon. We could wait, to be sure."

Victoria twists a hand around Allison's elbow, but she wrenches away. "No. I won't be dragged out of here like a child. He's my husband."

Victoria blinks once, slowly. "Then I'll say what I was going to say to you in private in front of your husband. You knew the risks when you married him, when you made him part of this family. He has to follow our code."

"But –" Allison gasps.

"But you love him?" Victoria raises her eyebrows, almost mocking and definitely cruel. "Being dead is better than being a monster. This is a mercy, Allison."

Scott folds his arms, tucking his wrists protectively against his body.

"In these circumstances," Victoria goes on, eyes forging into Scott's, "Every hunter is given the dignity of taking their own life. I suggest you take it."

Allison's face is stone as tears overflow onto her cheeks. "Let him... Let Scott call his mom first."

The walls collapse inside Scott and the storm gets in, because he could've survived dying if Allison had been fighting for him.

...

"I texted her. She's two hours in a double shift. I don't know when she'll get back to me," Scott says.

"Good." Allison paces the living room; he watches from the couch. Scott hasn't been allowed much privacy, too much of a threat. "I wanted more time," she says.

"Are they going to make me do it here?" Scott asks. He picks at a cuticle. He should be angrier or sadder or something more than just resigned. It's just... he knew early on that this was going to kill him. "If I was ever really going to kill myself, I mean, you know... I think I would do it at home. Not at your parent's house."

"They don't want us to leave." She turns when she reaches the edge of the carpet. "They think you'll run away, and I'll let you. Or I'll help."

Scott folds his hands in his lap, squeezes tight. "Would you?" he asks. There's not a chance of it. Scott's never seen Victoria with a gun but he's sure she'll shot him herself if he attempts escape.

Allison offers her hands and pulls him up. She hugs him – her face tucked into his hair behind his ear – and it feels like goodbye and an apology. Scott crumbles.

Then, so quiet even he can barely hear it, she whispers, "I am."

...

At ten thirty, Allison locks her fingers around Scott's wrist. "Let's go to bed."

"Allison –" Chris starts.

She turns at the foot of the steps, so angry that Scott believes it more than the whisper he might have imagined. "What? I can't have one last night with my husband. You're taking even that away from me?"

Allison pulls Scott upstairs before there can be any protest. They're still waiting for his Mom's call. Allison locks the bedroom door behind them and presses her ear to it.

"What're we doing?" Scott asks when she pulls away, satisfied no one followed her.

"We have to wait for my parents to go to sleep, before we do anything."

"When will that be?"

"Closer to midnight."

"What're we doing up here then?"

"I got us until morning," Allison says. She stops and stares at him, a stillness that's intense. She catches her fingers in her blouse's hem and pulls it over her head.

"What're you …" Scott starts but it's cut off by her closing in on him, pressing a single finger to his lips in a shushing.

"I still do want one last night with my husband."

…

Scott awakes to Allison hand on his shoulder. "Get up. Get dressed. We're going." He scrambles to follow her orders.

"What time is it?"

"After one. I heard their door close an hour ago. They have to be asleep." She opens the window, drops out a small backpack. It thumps on the grown below. She pauses, listens, then nods. "You next," she says.

Scott looks between her and the window. He points at it. "You want me to jump."

"Yeah," she says, hands on her hips, allowing no dispute.

All protests dry up before spoken. What's the risk of a second story window jump versus his life? He climbs out the window so he's just sitting on the ledge.

"Stay loose. Don't lock your knees. Try to tuck and roll," Allison says, a hand settling on his back with just enough pressure to tell him that if he didn't leap soon she would push.

Scott lands on his toes, then his knees, then his face. He rolls over to his back, trying to take in air while staying quiet. Allison comes out of the window with an Olympic grace, swinging over to the drain pipe and dropping herself down to a crouch.

"Why didn't you tell me to do that?" Scott asks as he gets to his feet.

"No time." She swings the backpack over one shoulder.

They creep down two blocks and over one. A black BMW reeves to life as they approach. Scott pauses but Allison strides forward. "That's our ride."

Jordan climbs out of the driver's side.

"What's he doing here?"

"I called in a favor," Allison says.

"What about the code?" Scott asks.

Only Jordan answers. "I owe you my life. That's my code." He hands the keys over to Allison. "I don't know where you're going and I don't want to know."

"Wise," Allison says, then softer, "Thank you."

He nods, steps back, look between the two of them. "Get going."

…

"What's the plan?" Scott asks after they've made it out of the neighborhood.

Allison's jaw is set, hands chocked tight on the wheel. "I'm going to find you a pack."

An hour of interstate between them and the Argent's house, Scott says, "And how're you going to do that?" like the conversation never stopped.

"I know a druid."

"How do you know a druid?"

"Remember that family trip I went on between freshman and sophomore year?"

"Yeah."

"That's how."

An overhead sign announces they're crossing a state line.

"Does the druid owe you a favor or something?"

"No. But I think she'll help."

…

Dawn's light awakes Scott. He offers to take over driving and Allison wordlessly trades off with him at a rest stop.

"Just keep on this route for the next fifty miles," she tells him.

"You should sleep," Scott says.

Allison leans her temple against the headrest. "I don't want to sleep. I just want to look at you."

Scott grins and presses down on the gas pedal. He thinks of turning on music until he hears a sniffle.

"Allison –" He glances over. She's rubbing her eyes.

"Sorry."

Scott wants to tell her not to apologize.

"My mom was right, you know," she says. "I knew when I married you my parents would expect you to become a hunter. I knew how dangerous that was. If I was a better person, but…" she shakes her head. "I'm making it up for it now."

…

Allison and the druid exchange a sparring of French that seems like a battle of wits to Scott, who doesn't understand a word of it. At the end of it, the druid surveys Scott like he's the most interesting specimen.

She introduces herself as Marin Morrell and leads them to an empty classroom. They're in a high school, which Scott doesn't understand until he sees a name plaque reading 'Ms. Morrell' on the teacher's desk.

"I try to remain unbiased in these situations," Morrell says. "I do believe that hunters have a purpose in maintaining balance… but asking me to get a hunter into an established pack is not an easy task."

"He's not a hunter," Allison says.

"Um," Scott starts. Allison squeezes his wrist.

"He's not," she says to Morrell's raised eyebrows. "He can barely hold a gun straight. And he's not a killer."

Morrell is quiet for a pause. "I'll try," she says.

"Thank you," Allison blurts out, sounding so young in her elation.

"I'm not promising anything," Morrell says. "And I will not lie about the circumstances, either, but… I think I might be able to find an alpha who'd prefer him alive than another causality of the Argents."

…

It takes two days. They wait in a cheap motel room for the most of it, both of them increasing in anxiety with every passed hour. For Scott, what he thinks is the wolf itches under his skin as the full moon grows closer.

They both jolt at the knock. Allison crosses to the door, hand resting on the gun looped in her belt. She checks the peephole then opens the door. Morrell enters, followed by another woman.

"This is him, then?" the woman says, eyes locked on Scott.

"Yes," Morrell says. "Scott, this is Satomi. She one of the most accomplished alphas in the country. You're lucky she was traveling through right now. No local pack would have you."

Scott swallows. This Satomi certainly has a presence, though Scott's not sure if it's her alpha status affecting him or that she's the only one willing to help (even though help means leaving behind Allison, his mom, his established life up until now).

"Thank you," Scott manages to say, but his throat feels empty.

"It's against my better judgment," Satomi says, "But…" she looks down to the floor then back at him – into him. "I have soft spot for people who need to learn control. That's what I'll teach you and what I'll expect from you as part of my pack. You'll be treated like the rest of my wolves, regardless of your," She glances at Allison, "Family connections."

Scott's overwhelmed, like being dunked in pleasantly warm water, with believing her.

"And you," Satomi says to Allison, who crosses her arms. "I expect that you'll keep your family away from my pack."

"I'll do what I can," Allison says.

"No," Satomi says, "You'll do what you must."

…

Satomi and Morrell wait outside as Scott and Allison share their final goodbyes. They're locked in an embrace, neither willing to step apart because they both know it will be for the last time.

"What will you tell them?" Scott asks.

"That I killed you," Allison answers. "That I was trying to run away with you. I even tried locking you up on the full moon, but you broke free… and it was self defense."

"Will they believe it?"

"It's the only story I'll tell."

Scott steps back but still holds onto her arms. She holds his.

"I never got to talk to Mom," Scott says.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that saving your life means tearing you away from everything you love. I'm sorry for so many things."

"I don't want the last thing you say to me be an apology."

"Okay, okay." She leans in and kisses him. "I love you, then."

They'd already discussed the other details. How they can't contact each other. Scott can't contact anyone from his old life.

"I love you, too," he says.

They walk out of the motel room holding hands. They don't say goodbye.

…

Allison waits until the day after the full moon to start driving home. Along the way she repeats the constructed alibi aloud, alone in the car, so much that she almost believes it to be the truth and Satomi and Morrell to be the lies.

She imagines how she killed Scott. She didn't bring her bow, and if was with a blade she'd likely have defensive wounds. The gun, then, not her usual tool, but she could empty a few rounds before she got home. It's not easy to kill a werewolf with a gun, not without wolfsbane bullets, but it can be done. It has to be an instant kill. Shot to the head? Allison gags with the image her brain flairs up, starring Scott.

The BMW swerves before she jerks it back straight in its lane. Okay, she could make that shot if it was close range. She's trained. Maybe she had to press the muzzle right against his skull and…

Allison doesn't want to think about this anymore.

…She has to think about this. Every detail must be thought out, consistent, plausible.

She buried Scott's body. Maybe they had been in a cabin during the full moon. Somewhere remote. She buried his body out there, in the woods. Cleaned up the crime scene. The timeline works. Now she's coming home. She's distraught.

Allison blinks confused at the passing sign. She's a state farther than she thought and over two hours have passed since she checked the clock.

Yeah, okay, she won't have to lie about distraught.

…

Her head against the steering wheel, she sits five minutes in the driveway when there's a knock on the window. She could use a hug from her dad right now, but when she lifts her head, it's Gerard.

He's opens the door. She hadn't had it locked. "So, the prodigal girl returns."

She tells them her fabrication, tells them Scott's dead. They don't believe, which what Allison expected, but she stays consistent and persistent, and eventually Dad interrupts Victoria's and Gerard's interrogation.

"Let her get some rest. She doesn't look like she's showered in days."

Allison slips upstairs. She's tired but can't sleep, so she gets that shower Dad suggested.

…

"Come in," she says to the knock, though her door is left open.

Dad sits beside her on the bed, puts an arm over her shoulder.

"You don't believe me either," Allison says.

"No," he says. He rubs a thumb over her shoulder. "But I'm not here to ask you for the truth."

"Why are you here?" she asks, though tucking her head against his shoulder.

"What your mom and Gerard seem to be forgetting is that in this family we train out daughters to be leaders. And being a leader means making calls, making decisions."

Allison nods.

"Your decision – did you make the right one?"

From Victoria that question would have been asking if Scott was dead. Her dad, though, is asking something else.

"Yes," Allison says. "I did."

…

Twelve years pass.

…

Enoch keeps shifting weight between his feet by the front door. "I don't like this," he whispers to Scott, although every werewolf in the lake house can overhear. "Negotiating with hunters. Don't trust 'em."

"They probably say the same thing about us," Scott says.

"Being a werewolf is who I am. They choose to hunt us."

Scott nods as if to say 'granted' for he doesn't have the time to explain that sometimes these things are more complicated than they appear. Enoch's only twenty and plenty impulsive. It's good he's here tonight; it will give him a chance to witness problem-solving other than running, hiding, and fighting.

Lila opens the door and sticks her head in. "They're coming, Alpha," she says.

"Yes, I can hear," Scott says. Two car engines running and eight tires grinding over dirt roads, maybe five minutes away yet. "And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Scott?"

"Probably a few times more, Alpha," Lila says and goes back out. Enoch bounces on his toes. Scott closes his eyes, takes a breath – calm. It's not his first time negotiating with hunters, but Scott always worries about his packmates and if they'll be double-crossed.

"Sterling's different," Scott says to Enoch, to himself. "This is a hunter that even takes out other hunters, if they're corrupt, or hunt supernaturals for bounty."

"Rumors," Enoch mutters.

Scott laughs. "That's no reputation any hunter would want unless it was true."

The car engines get closer then cut off. Feet on the damp grass, six heartbeats, and a familiar voice: "I've come to talk to the True Alpha."

Scott's heart skips fast through a few beats. He gets an odd look from Enoch, from the others. The door opens and she steps through, plus a few others, but they don't matter. Scott can only see her.

"Allison?"

Her eyes land on him. She blinks a few times as if trying to clear her eyes from seeing an apparition. "Scott."

He moves too quickly, and has her wrapped in his arms. Her warmth is like anyone's warmth, but her smell takes him back like it's just yesterday they'd been parted, or maybe it never happened at all.

Allison puts a little space between them. "Down," she says, and he realizes she's talking to her hunters who had drawn guns at his swift movements.

"Yeah, ditto," Scott says, figuring there are probably some claws out.

He's smiling in a way that's going to make his face hurt after a while as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're Sterling?" He laughs and it's almost a giggle. "Sterling silver. I get it."

Allison bites her lip and nods. "You're the true alpha. I'd always knew you'd be great."

"What's going on?" Enoch asks.

"I could ask the same," says one of Allison's companions – a plaid-wearing, gruff, old hunter.

Scott touches Allison's cheek. "This..." he looks over to Enoch, to his packmates, "Is my wife."

...

She turns his hand over in hers running a thumb over the wedding band. "You still wear it."

"Of course," Scott says, and says nothing about hers missing.

Allison withdraws her hand and pulls a chain from tucked under her shirt. Her engagement ring and wedding band dangle from the end. "Closer to my heart that way," she says. "Also… it hurt too much to keep explaining what happened to my husband."

Scott takes her hand back in his, never wanting to be unconnected from her again.

"How do you think they're doing down there?" Allison asks. The lake house is lit up against the night's darkness. They had given the group a brief explanation and mutual commands to play nice then ensconced out to the wooded area up the hill.

"They haven't massacred each other yet. I would've heard," Scott says with a teasing smirk. "Plus, this encourages good will. They'll mingle, realize we're all people, when it gets down to it."

After a moment of cricket song, both try to ask a question at the same time, then cut off, and fumble around apologies, and deference.

"Please, go first," Scott says. "I want to tell you everything."

Allison shrugs and smiles. Neither of them can stop the smiling. "I just want to know how you've been."

"Good. Missing you, but good."

"More than good, true alpha." She nudges his shoulder with her.

"Yeah, turns out I'm a much better werewolf than werewolf hunter."

Allison laughs, leaning back towards the sky. "You were a terrible hunter."

"Hey, now," Scott says, not offended at all.

"It's okay," Allison says. "It's part of why I love you so much."

Scott leans over and kisses her for the first time in twelve years. She tastes different but not unpleasant. Scott explains the passing of his life since they last met. Satomi kept all her promises, taught him control and treated him fairly. One of his new packmates created Scott a fake identity he uses to this day. Scott had even found a way to safely contact his mother.

"Xavier, the guy who forged my fake legal identity here… he came up with this lie to tell her, that I'm in witness protection. I hate lying to her, but it's better than letting her think I'm dead or disappeared. I googled myself, saw that news report. By the way, my mom might have the impression that your family's involved in organized crime."

Allison snorts. "It's not too far from the truth," she says.

Scott lets that darkness go un-prodded, and asks the question that had been itching him: "How did _Sterling_ happen?"

Allison takes a long breathe of the crisp, autumn air.

She says, "Well, I guess it started after Gerard died. Cancer. And my mom. By her own conviction…" Scott squeezes her hand at Allison's downcast head. He hears the story without asking details. Victoria followed the code where Scott and Allison had defied it. "That made me the leader, and…" She squeezes her eyes shut. "It's a long story, Scott."

"I want to hear it."

"And I look forward to telling it, one day, but I don't even know if I could explain most of it. I didn't have a plan. I didn't set out to be Sterling. The fake identity was my dad's suggestion after I started making enemies with my new code, so I needed to separate my hunter life from my personal life. I wasn't really trying to be an Argent anymore, anyway."

"You've changed things," Scott says, waving a hand at the lake house where hunters and werewolves were not slaughtering each other. "No one held hunters accountable for their kills before. Most respectable packs were too worried about starting blood feuds to fight back."

"I didn't mean to," Allison says. "Not that I regret it. But…I just did what I had to, Scott. I did what I must."

The words echo familiar in Scott's ears, because of course he had replayed their last parting in his head for ages. "You did it for me?" Scott says.

"I didn't know where you were," Allison says, eyes going over his face, trying to rememorize it. "And when Gerard and my Mom were still alive, it's wasn't safe for me to find out… So, to protect you, I had to protect every pack, every werewolf. And somewhere along the way I realized they deserved it, because _we are_ all people. Justice means everyone has to be held accountable for their actions, hunters and werewolves alike."

"You've changed too," Scott says.

"I know," she answers.

"It's not a bad thing. I've changed."

"I know. You're a true alpha now, the only one in the country and the first in generations."

"And you're the most powerful hunter in the country, maybe the continent," Scott says.

"We're in a unique position, Scott," Allison says, looking out to the horizon. "We can set precedent."

"What you're saying is we can change things," Scott says, finding no need to edge around the simplest word for it.

Allison looks at him, eyes gleaming with possibility. "Why not?"

Scott pulls her to her feet, holds both her hands in his, like renewing a vow. "Why, Allison Argent, I'd love to change the world with you."

They kiss under the witness of the moon.


End file.
